Intelligence Quotidian
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Dean's tired of looking dumb. Snippet.


**Intelligence Quotidian**  
K Hanna Korossy

"Well, this is exciting," Dean Winchester said with an utter lack of enthusiasm.

He could see his brother smile at the book he was immersed in. "Wanna trade?" Sam offered without looking up.

"Hmm, let's see, flipping through websites on a computer, or wading through thick, dusty books without any pictures." Dean juggled his empty hands, weighing an invisible balance. "Tough choice there, Sam."

Sam sighed, and sniffed a little. Dean hadn't been exaggerating about the dust; amazingly, the occult section of the small-town library didn't seem well-patronized. "Books can be interesting, you know, Dean. Just because a lot of them don't have pictures—"

"Hey," Dean protested. "I read."

"I'm not talking about Stephen King."

Dean glowered at him. "Just because I don't like that dry literary crap you do doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"Of course not. But you don't read newspapers or any other non-fiction you don't have to, either. I'm just saying, there's nothing wrong with being well-rounded."

Dean really didn't feel like having this argument, but enduring Sam's condescension was worse. "Right. Because knowing what politician's screwing who is so important in the scheme of things."

"It can be," Sam answered staunchly. Even we're not totally above the law—you need to stay informed. Can you even name three Supreme Court justices?"

Dean slanted him a sideways glance. "You sure you wanna play this game?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"All right, name three ways to kill a ghoul."

Sam had the grace to look abashed. "Look, this isn't a contest…"

"No, it's about me not living up to your standards. I may not have gone to a fancy college, Sam, but I've learned what matters. Knowing a ghoul's weaknesses is gonna do a lot more to keep me alive than knowing who to vote for next election."

Sam blinked. "You v—"

"Officially dead, remember?" Dean snapped, grabbing a notepad to make some notes as he turned away from Sam.

There was a long pause. He could practically hear Sam thinking. _Feeling. _Geez, and Sam wondered why he avoided talking. Dean could've practically counted down to his name being timidly spoken behind him.

"If you say you're sorry, you're walking back to the motel," he growled.

There was a pause. More wheels turning in Sam's head. Then, unexpectedly, "What's the first book I ever read?"

The question threw him, dragging an answer from him before he even realized it. "_Go, Dogs, Go," _Dean said over one shoulder.

"You realize most brothers wouldn't have a clue what the answer is to that question? You know because you taught me how to read—I got into Stanford because of you, you moron. I _never_ thought you were stupid."

And that…that meant a lot more than any apology Sam could have tendered. Was one, in fact.

"Except for that time you banged Sylvie Fisher with her parents in the next room. That was pretty dumb."

Dean grinned. Then, chewing on his lip, he finished what he was writing and folded the sheet into an airplane. It coasted neatly back over his shoulder. He could hear Sam's start, followed by the crinkle of flattened paper. And the stunned silence that followed.

"Nine justices. Even alphabetized them for you," Dean helpfully clarified.

More silence. Dean couldn't resist throwing a glance back, mouth pulling into a grin at the sight of Sam's slack jaw. And meaning it, because no matter how often his little brother hurt him, he still loved the guy, and knew the reverse was true. Which covered a multitude of sins.

Dean canted his head. "Hey, just because it's not useful doesn't mean I'm not paying attention."

"Okay…you realize you just wrecked your whole playing-dumb act, right?"

Dean's mouth twitched again. "That doesn't mean my trusty geek brother isn't going to stay the research half of the team."

"So what does that leave you, the muscle?" Sam sounded amused now.

"And the looks," Dean shrugged carelessly, "and the car." He tilted his head back to look at Sam upside down. "What can I say, Sammy, life's not fair."

"Yeah, whatever," Sam snorted. "I think you're probably going to have more luck than I am, anyway. All I'm finding here is a lot of rituals with naked, blood-painted women in moonlight."

Dean perked up at that. "Really?"

"No."

**The End**

_Author's Note: I don't usually explain fics; they should speak for themselves. But the strong reaction to this one left me wanting to say two things. One, Dean is smart. He can rebuild a car from the ground up, rewire a Walkman into an EMF meter, knows the herbs and weapons and creatures and lore of his job, can get anywhere in the fastest possible time, and thinks fast on his feet. Just because he's not educated doesn't mean for a second he's not as intelligent as his brother. And two, I'm not suggesting Dean knows everything Sam does and is just hiding it. The backstory in my head to this piece involves a very hot law student with long legs, who needed help studying for her exam. You just never know what random things you'll pick up from where! _


End file.
